


Simulacrum Of Dawn

by Eonnie



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Breast Worship, Cheating: Unclear, F/M, Femdom, Goddess Worship, Incubus!Jimin, Masturbation, Reader-Insert, Sub!jimin, Topics of Prostitution, Vaginal Sex, boyfriend!Jimin, city life, dom!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 19:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonnie/pseuds/Eonnie
Summary: A beautiful incubus comes to warm you up at night. He resembles your boyfriend Jimin an awful lot.





	Simulacrum Of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I challenge you to read between the lines more than ever for this one.

**Simulacrum**

_— resemblant image or representation of reality, mirage_

  

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_Dusk._

The heating does not work.

It just stopped without any warning. Not one. To hell with this old flat.

To hell with this cruel city, too. The brothels, the clubs in the district. In fact, screw everything about his day.

You hope that the new windows seal in the warmth for at least a few hours this night. Last Wednesday, the same incident had spoiled date night with Jimin, but had somewhat solved itself.

The problem wasn’t uncommon anyways. Well, fuck. You learned that it usually takes four to six hours until the rusty boiler makes a grumbling recovery. If it doesn’t, freezing to death is not part of your plan.

You turn the control valve all the way up to the stop.

When the heat returns during your sleep as you predict it, you want the maximum capacity to kick in. Heck, you want a giant explosion of heat.

The television flickers at the other end of the room while you sort through your wardrobe, looking for a sweater and other cozy knit to slip into. Two fleece blankets from the living room serve as a decent barrier under your duvet. If you could only remember where the electric one is.

 

The news anchor behind you monotonously announces more bad weather and difficulties at New Year celebrations in Seoul until you switch off. Driving delivery after the holidays will be a tough job. You send Jimin a goodnight message and a selfie. “Love you, babe. How’s the beach? It’s cold here.”

“I hate the beach. You’re missing. Think about our last night. Don’t forget it,” he texts back fast with a little heart emoji. A selfie pops up one minute later. It shows Jimin in his saffron yellow bathrobe, chest wide exposed.

“Or just try this. Warm greetings from Busan,” the caption says. He writes that he goes to bed now, promising to visit the upcoming weekend. His car will be fixed by then.

Police sirens blare outside like howling wolves. Winter Seoul is busy, sick, and preoccupied outside, and so is your head.

 

It’s hard to pass out since a bone-chilling cold creeps into the room already. Frostbite, here you come. December sucks so much. The snow has to melt already. So the new year will be better for you and Jimin.

The gaudy stores downtown redecorate already. It’s that’s what you want for the New Year as well.

The lingering image of him helps you ease down your pants a fair bit, hand reaching between your legs to create the much-needed, long-absent stimulation. He needs to come back as soon as possible. You hurry to warm up your body at least a bit.

The temperature in the room keeps falling regardless, leaving the tip of your nose icy cold and red. Pulling the heavy duvet over your head is silly, but it does help. But fear can’t be veiled just like that.

 

What if the heating won’t come back later this night?

The typical minus degrees in this borough are unrelenting. Just like the people here. Jimin should be next to you right now with his little crinkling nose and bubbly laughs, just making everything easier. Pressed against you fending off the dire cold. But Busan is so far away, and he’s lonely at the beach.

Your orgasm arrives flat and unsatisfying. Just an empty shudder.

 

You know that Jimin is the one when even he’s better at pleasing you than you can please yourself. Part of your sex drive is already dead, that’s what the cold can’t take from you. And, at least you’re more tired now. Winter got outsmarted twice.

Since last week there’s construction work at the avenue, so the people are redirected to the side roads. That’s good for rest these days. Sleep starts to come once at least the police sirens lapse into silence.

Seoul nonetheless keeps on raging and frolics in the neighborhood, leaving the acerbic prostitutes in fur coats and platforms well-tipped.

It’s a sad but flourishing business after Christmas is over. Less austere than how it is all year round.

 

But the red-light district is still more wretched and forlorn than ever, darting continuous voices of dictatorial pimps and neon rays into your room from below. The prospect of sleep fades. It’s getting unusually loud.

Because the window is open.

An immense heat gives you a screaming start, kicking away all the blankets. You glance around the room panicking. Is there a raid again, and they got the wrong room? No, the answer is at the window. Perched in the frame sits—

Beloved Jimin.

 

Dressed summerly in gold, playing with his locks like a little cherub. Really, is it him? The midnight haze won’t let you tell. 

“Is there a problem?” he coos from gentle lips. “I’m at your service, Lady Kwon.”

He knows your name. The voice is the exact same, too. It has to be Jimin. You can trust your eyes when your ears say yes, his soft timbre is one of a kind. How he came here, why it’s through the window, the heat, the debonair attire: You fail to grasp. Maybe it’s the latest fad in Busan. But it doesn’t matter. Your urgent wish came true, he’s here. 

“I just want you close... stop fooling around at the window.”

He detaches from the frame, descending light and elegant to the carpeted floor. 

“As you wish. Yes, I should probably close it as well,” he concurs benign and turns the handle with a gentle flick of the wrist. How you love the way he speaks. The flat has been so desolate without it.

Jimin lays down next to you sans his tiny sandals that he slid under your bed. For some reasons, he gives off massive waves of heat. That’s not normal. He is dressed so differently today, very ‘genteel’ as your co-driver Namjoon would say, and doesn’t smell the same.

Like he doesn’t belong in this part of town and escaped the burden of his former life. But kissing his chubby cheek creates the same kind of elevated feeling you always get. It’s him, you know it.

 

“Everything in best order? How do you feel?” he beams at you, tracing the spot where your lips just left with one bejeweled hand. Jimin never had a penchant for that, but it suits him.

“Shitty, that’s it,” you crawl over to him on all fours, closing the painful distance. “Babe... I missed you tons. Can’t get off without you.” His smile dwindles as you say that. Jimin knows how much his absence hurts. “I need you. Can we?”

“My delight is to always please you. Are you warm? I’m ready”

“Yes, I’m warm. Poetic today?” you climb on top to have tender seat just at the vertex of his thighs. The golden vestment hangs low from his shoulders in a waterfall, ends just inches before you. 

“Everything for my splendid Goddess.” 

Jimin marvels at you with big eyes. He begins to fumble at your knees as if trying to peel off the paisley pattern from the pants could work. The heat is unbearable. That golden garment needs to be off without much further ado, otherwise, this drought would end it all.

You slide off the velvet cascades and damask drapes, hungry to take in what’s underneath. The luscious body you’ve been craving. Firm, compact, flawless. It takes forever to peel off your own layers of clothing. Your heartbeat is going berserk. No more ice crystals at the window. The room has turned into a sauna. This is not Seoul. You lean down to have Jimin suck off your breasts. 

 

His skin is almost scalding hot, his lips, the nose against your collarbone. You fear that he’ll burn you, but even his red-hot lips don’t leave a trace around your nipples as he savors them. He’s just hot to the touch, and you absorb it all. Jimin, he’s your fiery little cherub. Like the sun had decided to enter a human body just to lay down in this bed. 

Your chest feels set ablaze under the gentle brush of his blonde hair while he keeps sucking, kissing, and giving off sweet moans. Finally. You thought that would never resound in this flat again. His lips are so overwhelmingly soft and big, and part wide to cup your breasts.

The jacquard of Jimin’s wide trousers slips down rigidly, slowly under a lascivious pull. He’s hard against your abdomen. 

“Jimin babe, stop for a minute. We need a condom.”

“I would wait forever for you,” Jimin pulls off your breasts with a content smile. Whatever he had for breakfast, it must have made him this way. You reach to rummage in your nightstand for the familiar little stack. Unused since the last week, waiting for times when you’re yearning for him. This took so long. The thin latex feels like melting on him, but it doesn’t.

The eager heat disseminates when you sink down on him. The fire inside makes for an exciting flare, easy to take in. You’ve always been grateful for the handy size. Jimin’s golden necklaces and bracelets tingle with every sway of your hips going in circles. 

Ra, crowned falcon god of the sun devoured by Nut, Goddess of the firmament. Your skies encapsulate the luminous and pulsating firmness. You bury your teeth in Jimin’s neck until his light gives birth to vibrant stars with little drips.

He only pulls out after his hands between your legs have found the craving spot, making you bend forward under little circles.

 

You pull off the condom, deliver a dozen firm pumps with two hands around him. Jimin is repeating your name over and over again. Your belly feels wet with his cum. He lies next to you singing after calming down a bit, chanting words unknown. It’s a language sounding familiar in a way because you feel what he means, but foreign in its syllables. It’s not the slang from the cold avenue. You caress his hair, his cheeks. And play with his adornments. 

He really smells much sweeter today, like chamomile. December is so much more appealing tonight. The brothels don’t matter. They will cease one distant day, and life will be better for everyone. Every woman and every man. Whatever they construct in the street, it must be something good. The neon advertisements, all the red lights, you know they shine as warm and bright like him and your love.

The soothing heat only ceases when Jimin comes to rise at the edge of the bed, saying he must leave after a small kiss. And another. A third one. It paralyzes you. That cannot be. It can’t. He only arrived just now. You protest, but he already topples toward the window barefoot. 

“Please don’t leave. Why do you leave?”

Jimin ruffles his hair back into place. His necklace consoles you with little clinks when he turns the handle, letting in the dreaded breeze. But you’re still warm in bed. He left enough comfort for you. 

“Goodbye,” he smiles, “we’ll meet again.” 

And at the next blink, the frame is empty. The window closed. The breeze abated, so did the flashy neon signs.

It’s dawn. 

 

He’s gone, no trace. You turn around to get the last dose of sleep you can get, even if every thought returns to torment you with questions. At one point, you’re too tired to care. The haze of sleep descends at last. It’s dragging you down into an abyss. Not dark, but golden. It’s like you can still hear his voice somewhere, it’s eerie. But also a solace you knew the last days needed.

You want to hit the snooze button in your delirious state as it rings. Instead, you almost knock over a hot cup of camomile tea on your nightstand. There are fresh croissants with butter, too. And toast. 

“Easy, easy. Good morning,” a soft voice soothes next to you. It’s familiar. You turn around.

“Jimin?!”

“Hey, jagiya. The car got fixed yesterday.”

He’s in his yellow pajama. Hair messy, lips a bit chapped. A bit tired overall.

“Didn’t you leave just this morning?”

That raises his brows. 

 

“Y/N... I know your fantasy is very intricate. But this has to be a joke. I left last week!” 

Astounding. You feel the electric blanket at your side as you turn towards him. Of course, he took it with him to Busan. 

“When did you get here?”

“I slipped in when it was starting to get really warm in here. I don’t know when exactly. But I left the heater this way. You turned it up this way with good reason, right? You said it’s cold here. So I switched on the blanket, too”

Indeed the radiator is busy rumbling at the wall. The room’s all stoked up, window steamed. 

 

“Yes, right. But you really showed up here this early?”

“Well, hm. Maybe around midnight. You were really clingy against me for hours. At sunrise, I left to make breakfast, ventilated for a bit. Just now I slipped back.”

“Did I say something to you earlier, or...?”

“I just know you said I’m poetic while you were sleeping. That was super funny. Y/N, what did you eat the evening before?” 

There isn’t much you can say. Better than sleepwalking. Jimin breaks one croissant in half and distributes some jelly on it. 

You stand up to turn down the control valve of the heater, then start eating next to him. So the car did get fixed. The beach wasn’t so boring, he made pictures. He shows them on his phone until only a couple crumbs of toast are left. The sun is brilliant through the receding steam on the window glass. Jimin switches off the electric blanket and says you’ll go and see the fireworks at the Han River, he got tickets for the fair.  

The police sirens are now closer than ever. Business as usual. A dusty concrete mixer rattles down the avenue but gets stuck in traffic. In the bathroom, the shower started running. Chances are that Jimin’s bathrobe will get its great moment in ten minutes. The teacup is empty when you check the space underneath your bed with one tentative arm. 

And there  _are_  shoes. 

 

Panic-stricken, you raise them from the ground and glance over the edge of the bed.

Just Jimin’s red sneakers. 


End file.
